


Always in My Heart

by ariapassionflower01



Category: Michael Jackson - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariapassionflower01/pseuds/ariapassionflower01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisa Marie visits Michael's grave and thinks about her time as his wife. RIP Michael</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always in My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I was the one thinking about Michael's death and feeling very sad and I needed outlet

I visited your grave today.  
The hundreds of sunflowers piled around the massive headstone brought tears to my eyes. Their overwhelming smell assaulted by senses like a strong perfume. Although I had requested that they be there in your honor, I felt an all-consuming sadness grip my chest at the sight.  
I knelt next to you, reaching out a hand to place by cold fingers on the warm ground. I close my eyes and imagine my hand pressed against your chest, feeling your heart beating steadily in rhythm with mine. I know its an illusion but imagining your smile as you reach up to place your hand against my own chest somehow eases the pain.  
Its been almost three months to the day since I heard the news. I had seen you crucified in the media so many times but watching as the cameras caught the chaos surrounding your house on that fateful morning brought a new horror rushing into my mind.  
At the time, I hadn't expected to feel the grief as sharply as I had. But then I realized what a mistake I had made all those years ago. Suddenly, I wanted you back, right there with me, with all your faults, all your problems, the good and the bad. In that moment, I didn't care about your oddities and eccentricities. I didn't care about what other people said. I only wished for one more chance. For years, I had blamed you but now all that was gone, replaced by something much worse – immense loneliness. Reality set in. You were gone. Forever. This wasn't for one night, or a week, or a month, or even a few years. It was forever, and I was still here, alone. You, my one lover, my one soul mate, had slipped away for the last time.  
The steps of grief came afterwards, denial, bargaining, anger.... acceptance. They came quickly for me. For some people, it takes years, but somehow I realized that this would happen someday. It's like you described it one time. You feel like you have a hold of love until it becomes like a bar of soap. You hold it too tight and it slip from your fingers. When I first met you, I was mesmerized but cautious at first. Being the magical person that you were, all my caution was quickly erased. I was pulled in and before I knew it, I was deep inside your world, inside your heart. It was like a fairytale at first, but like you also said – fantasy is so much better than reality. Reality eventually caught up. I loved you so much but I couldn't understand anything you did. I couldn't comprehend how you thought. I knew when I married you that you had your faults. I knowingly walked into a relationship with a man who was obviously troubled. I quickly realized just how extensive the problems were. Self-esteem was a main issue. Shy was an adjective that easily described you. But it was a lot worse than that. You were a perfectionist of the worst kind. Nothing was ever good enough, including yourself. Like your music, you tried to change yourself to make the end product better. But unlike music, your body cannot be twisted and transformed into something other than what it is. But, oh, you tried. You tried so hard.  
At first, I found the idea of your wearing makeup to be a little odd but just something that added to your uniqueness. The first time that we had sex, I awoke before you the next morning. When you awoke, you let out a high-pitched scream and ran to the bathroom to apply your makeup before I saw your naked face. I found it almost funny, and laughed on the bed for almost five minutes. But then as time wore on, I realized that the makeup wasn't just something you did. It was a part of you, an obsession. I found you beautiful with or without it, and I distinctly remember begging you to take it off at one point. Some tabloid magazine had been telling some outlandish story and you came home, crying. You sat on the couch, sobbing into your hands while I tried my best to comfort you.  
“But you're beautiful to me!” I remember trying to reason, on the edge of tears myself.  
“It's about appearances.” You cried. “I have an image to maintain and they're telling these stories.”  
“But it doesn't matter. I love you. Isn't that what matters?”  
“I know you love me. But...”  
“Just take it off!” I cried, my voice rising.  
“I can't!” You said, looking up at me with wide eyes.  
“But you're beautiful without it.” I said. “I've seen you without it before and I know.”  
“But I can't.” You repeated.  
And it went on and on until I grew too upset to speak to you.  
But the makeup wasn't the only problem.  
You once told me that you wanted to have the perfect face. Laughing, I said, “Baby, you already have the perfect face.”  
You just frowned and kept on doing whatever you were doing.  
At this point, I knew about the surgeries. Everyone did. It was obvious. Painfully obvious. I didn't know how many you had had or on what parts of your face. I knew it wasn't natural but I just tried to love you through it.  
The day after your comment I found you standing in the bathroom looking at yourself in the mirror, a strange look on your face.  
“What is it?” I asked.  
You frowned deeper and said, “They once asked me in an interview if I liked what I saw when I looked in the mirror.... I didn't want to answer the question because the truth is that... I don't.” You bit at your lip and frowned hard.  
I froze at this, and said, “Why shouldn't you? You're the most famous person in the world. You have girls falling at your feet, calling your sexy, and beautiful, and perfect all the time.”  
“Yes, but their view is skewered.” You said. “Its because I'm a celebrity. If I were a regular person on the streets, someone would look at me and call me...” Your voice faded as you continued to stare at yourself before you whispered, “What do you think? My brothers always made fun of me for my nose. I think its too big.” You sighed. “I talked to my surgeon this morning-”  
“Now, wait a minute.” I said, stepping into the bathroom further. “You don't need to do this.” I pulled you around to face my and pressed my hand to your chest just as I have done at your grave. “I have lived with this face for... a couple of months now... and I happen to like it.”  
You smiled softly and reached out to put your hand on my chest. “I know, but you don't understand.” You glanced back at the mirror. “It's about appearance and perception.”  
“No. This is about you being discontent and insecure about how you look.” I snapped, quickly becoming irritated.  
Your hand dropped from my chest. “Look, I don't expect you to understand everything, but I need you to be supportive of me.”  
“I am.” I said.  
“Besides, it won't be that much.” You said, as if making an excuse. “It just needs to be a little thinner.” You tossed me a wink as if it were nothing. “Like yours.”  
I marched away after that, not at all assured of your intentions.  
It wasn't the end of the surgeries. They went on for years, and I'm not sure where they ended. The mask covered your face many times, and after we divorced, I separated myself completely from you, a decision I regret. Some people speculate that our marriage was all for show, but honestly it was something that all of the tabloids in the world couldn't have understood. It was special and it was ours. No matter how much we screamed at each other or how much time and space we put between ourselves, I knew that you still loved me and that somehow, I still loved you. “Love never stops loving.” You once said. I wish I could've put this more into practice. Did I really love you since I left you there in that hospital, worn down and weary from a long fight with the world? Did I really love you when I refused to talk to you? Did I really love you when I cut off all communication between us for years to come? I don't know, but I know what I feel now and I wish I could turn back time. I don't know if anything would change for the better, but I wish I could've held onto you a little while longer. I wish I could've stood next to you when they hailed you different titles, and blessed you with accolades. I wish I could've been there when your beautiful children came into this world. I wish I could've seen them grow, nutured by your loving care. I wish I could've been there with you when you decided that it was safe to step back into the light, when you finally returned to what you were always best at – dazzling the world.  
But more than all of that, I wish I could've held your hand one more time before your beautiful and fragile spirit fled to a better place. I wish I could've held you in my arms, and kissed your lips as final token of my love before your last sweet breath brushed my cheek and my arms were exchanged for those of an angel.  
Time, however, can not be turned back and I must live with the regret. I must wonder every day if we could've somehow stayed by each other's side and made it work.  
That's why I feel a slave to this cemetery. I'm haunted by your spirit. Just the other night, I thought I heard you cry, asking me to come and hold you in my arms. I awoke from sleep, hearing the plaintive pleas reverberating in my head. That's when I remembered that I could never fulfill that desire. I had touched you for the last time when you lay in the casket, flesh cold and pale, only a shell. The person that I longed for was gone.  
And now, you feel even farther away, locked inside a box, deep inside the cold, hard ground. Sometimes, when I'm not looking for you, I see you. Not physically, but spiritually, emotionally. I hear a tune, see a young child, imagine a voice, and you're there. But in an instant, its gone, and I'm back here, kneeling next to a headstone that while beautifully engraved, does not hold anything of what you were and still are. The black material of my dress waves around me, lonely and sad, and I whisper your name. Can you hear me? I want to tell you that I love you. I've whispered those words so many times at this gravesite, but can you hear me?  
I rise from the ground, feeling the aching lump in my throat as the cold winds of loneliness whip through me. I leave my bouquet of sunflowers just below the headstone, one of many in a long line of flowers that I have been bringing every time I come here.  
“I love you.” I whisper one last time, before I turn to walk away.  
Suddenly, I heard a whisper, like a tinkling wind chime, soft like kitten. “Lisa...”  
I spin around, chills sliding up and down my spine. Every hair on my stands on end and my heart is pounding. My eyes tear up and down the rows of burial sites, the endless flowers, searching for that dark gaze, the tousled curls, the wide, beautiful smile. Of course, no one is there, but a warmth fills me, thawing the ice that has grown over my heart.  
“Michael?” I murmur, my eyes filling with tears.  
My eyes dart to the heavens as the sun peaks out from behind a cloud as if to say, “Yes, I'm here.”  
Tears of gratitude slide down my cheeks uncontrollably, as I look back to the tombstone. The stone is the same, the ground the same, but suddenly, the light from the sun spreads of the bright yellow sunflowers, making them glow and shine, like a crown about the space where you're buried.  
In that moment, I feel you, and somehow, you stay with me. Suddenly, you aren't gone anymore. You're right here with me, and for today, it's enough. I'll never let you part again. You are always in my heart.


End file.
